22
TALES FROMTHE FUTURE
later, for only one day. He didn’t have time to stay longer. After lunch he
went out into the garden, and somehow it happened that he found himself
heading for the far corner of the garden where, as a child, he’d built his little
house among the acacias. He pulled aside the branches, stepped into the
little glade and stood there, stock still in surprise: the house he’d built el-
even years earlier out of plastic pots was still standing, in the very same spot
as before. But all around it… Around it were small flowerbeds, and a path
covered with sand led to the entrance, and a little bench now stood by the
entrance. And flower vines had entwined the little house itself. There wasn’t
a bench there before, but now there is, grown-up Johnny noted to himself.
He pulled aside the curtain that covered the entrance and, bending over,
entered the little house.
He immediately sensed that someone had recently been there. The pho-
tograph of him as a boy stood on the table, as before. Sally’s childhood toys
were neatly arranged on the little shelves. A small bowl on one of the
shelves next to the little table held fresh fruit. An inflatable mattress lay on
the floor, covered with a bedspread.
John stood in the little house for twenty minutes or so, recalling the
pleasant sensations from his childhood. He thought, “Why is this happen-
ing?” Their family owned a lot of fancy country houses, and they had a
castle, but country houses and castles didn’t produce the kind of pleasant
feelings that arose here in the little house made of ordinary plastic seedling
pots.
He saw Sally when he came out of the house. She was standing silently by
the entrance, as if she couldn’t bring herself to interrupt John’s flood of
memories. John glanced at her, and Sally’s cheeks flushed. She lowered her
eyes in embarrassment, in a soft, velvety, voice that was unusually tender
and excited, she said:
“Hello, Johnny!”
He didn’t answer right away. He stood there, admiring the grown-up
Sally’s unusually beautiful body. Her light dress, that hugged her figure,
fluttered in the breeze. Through the dress he could see the lines of her lithe,
young woman’s figure. She was no longer a child.
